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Dann Says: New Year Auto-Asphyxiation

Hi Beijing! Did you have a greeeeeat Christmas? I spent a good portion of mine in a pet hospital watching my cat hate the world. It’s exactly what Jesus would have wanted, but in many way my adopted feline is like Christ incarnate (see the prose at the bottom of the post). Literally every day I open a can of processed fish for the salvation of mankind. Big responsibility right there. OK, anyway, so New Year’s Eve is coming, another day where you are expected to have fun and if you don’t the joy police will take care of you, so let’s go have fun with some rock rock rock and roll, baby! Yay!

Today is Wednesday and it’s like a super charged hump-day because it’s the day before NYE! Whhhoooooooo! It’s like a Wednesday ate a Super Mario mushroom and eyeballed a load of Nyquil and now thinks it’s totally hip or some junk. Whatevs maaaaaaan...School Bar will be frolicking around with Click #15 led by Ricky Sixx of Rustic “fame”, he might get his willy out or something from 9p.m. One can but hope. Meanwhile over at Temple they’re going to be pre-gaming for the booze-holocaust with Jump The Fence and Disaster Chat from 9p.m. Turgid.

Thursday, oh man it’s New Years Eve. Just can’t...face...it...I think it’s time I joined a D&D podcasting collective or a black metal knitting club or something...anything...alright, breath, breath...so at School Bar it’s going to be a punk rawk shindig with Larry’s Pizza, The Diders, Candy Monster, The Hotline, and Pacalolo from 9p.m. I fully expect people to throw up in their own shoes for this. Over at DDC it’s the Maybe Mars shindig featuring Birdstriking, White+, and Gate To The Otherside. I have to say the release write up for this was one of the most confusing things I’ve read this year and believe me I read a lot in the process of trawling the events pages of Beijing magazines and hitting CTRL+C over and over again. It’s hardcore manual labor I tell you. Anyway, here’s the latest gem from the Maybe Mars propaganda machine: “We hope you stay calm in the chaos, get low but not down, experience the explosion in silence… that way, you're sure to cross over into a magnificent 2016!” Right, on a scale of Charlie Sheen to Pablo Escober how much blow was beaked before that passage was written? If instead you want to, erm, get high but not up (?) try Yugong Yishan for Penicillin, Illness Sickness, Gryphin, Glowcurve, The Eat, School Girl Byebye, DJ Demone, and DJ Watermelon from 8p.m or something. And yes, he’s called DJ Watermelon because he deejays whilst poking away at a mellon with his dirty little finger behind the deejay booth. Talent.

Friday, hahahaha, nah, that’s not going to happen is it? Earlier today I stupidly asked if I was working on Friday when I know full well I haven’t woken up before 6pm on a January 1 for well over a decade. If you somehow are awake or don’t go to sleep at all, I don’t know, run around and enjoy the “fog” or something. If you insist on going out the only thing I could find was Azumi Inoue and YUYU at the MasterCard Center from 9p.m. I assume these are Japanese pop stars or something. I’ve literally no idea. You never know though, they might do something cool, like share some interesting Pokemon trivia or fighting game cheat codes between songs. Dare to dream.

Saturday, I imagine January 2 will be mostly taken up with lying under the covers predicting how 2016 is going to suck even harder than 2015. Let’s take some really optimistic guesses: more live houses closing, more red alerts of unbreathable air days, rising rent prices, and the English language media becoming even more boring. Yipee! But hey, on the upside Long Shen Dao are releasing their new album at Yugong Yishan from 9p.m. That should be magical.

Sunday, it’s like the sloppiest day of the New Year when everyone does sweet nothing or tries to avoid doing jack-all, delaying the inevitable of the coming Monday and the realisation of another year of economic slavery pulling the chain a little harder and enthusing you to bite on the pillow. That’s right, bite a little harder. There’s going to be some unholy noise/jazz/singer-songwriter/poetry open stage jam at Temple from 8p.m. I can see some kind of Jim Jones like cult being birthed from that mess. About time if you ask me. They’ll be a remarkably more straight-laced blues jam at Jianghu around the same time. Finally, remember Adam Lambert? Because I don’t. He’s playing the Beijing Exhibition Center Theatre and tickets range between 480-980rmb. Here’s five things you could do with your time and money instead: 1) go to Temple, buy shots for a bunch of people and start your own cult 2) go and buy a wig, some flowery shirts, a guitar, and start hitting the acoustic circuit under the name Tan Saylor 3) buy nine cats and constantly reek of cat litter and be covered in fur 4) start a tape label 5) anything but go and see Adam Lambert.

Monday. No. Tuesday. No also. Wednesday, first hump day of the year, so go and get funked up with Soul Pollution at Salud from 9p.m or something. Many a strong drink in order I believe.

Well, I guess I’ll see you on the other side. Let’s get liminal.


The trio trudged towards the strange lights dancing in the sky, leaving the now dormant metal worm to decay in the dust behind them. When it had drawn to a stop they knew they had arrived at the pit. They trudged to the top of a ridge, their packs flapping loose against their backs, almost empty. Beautiful and bizarre colours twisted against the backdrop of dark clouds, emeralds and golds flirting with purples, turning in on themselves and blossoming back out, caressing the atmosphere.

Cresting the ridge the cat laid eyes upon which she had sought for so long. Below was a vast canyon, sheer walls of featureless black rock, slopes covered with ash and slag. It all ran down to a single sink hole from which the brilliant light was erupting and swirling up into the sky. The light twisted around a huge pair of shoulders on top of which sat a long and featureless head coloured the shade of the morning sun. The only discerning feature on its face was a pair of neat golden lips that sparkled and shone. They were parted ever so slightly to accept the never ending stream of treasures and trinkets floating through the sky from all directions. Books, framed paintings, chairs, rugs, lamps, trunks, beds, tea sets and so much more, it all mingled together drifting languidly through the air from north, south, east, west, either directly floating into the mouth or joining an orbit in which they spiraled closer and closer. Above the crown of its head the lights flared ever so slightly every time a new trinket entered that mouth.

They stood for sometime, watching the surrealist scene unfold before them. Standing at the edge of the pit they each felt a slight tugging, as if some invisible hand was lightly pulling on their throats. They felt their fatigue grow, the exhaustion of the journey burrowing into their bones. The cat found her eyelids growing heavy, so heavy she couldn’t help but let them close. She struggled to keep them open but found herself reasoning that she could afford to close them for just an instant.

She sat upright, gasping for breath. She looked around, the bizarre show continued in the pit below but the pig and hare were sprawled on the ridge top next to her snoring away. How long had they slept for? An hour? A day? There was no way of telling with the perpetual twilight over which the colours danced and twisted. The parted lips and streams of junk circling around it were unchanged. She felt a certain fuzziness inside her skull, a sluggishness within her limps that made her shoulders seem so heavy...lying back on that soft, soft sand seemed so tempting, to close her eyes again, if just for a moment...

The cat was on her was on her feet, frantically slapping against the dozing pig and hare.

“Get up! Move damn you!” she hissed.

The hare stirred but rolled over, the pig continued to snore. The cat stood upright looking upon the enormous face with its golden lips and knew she had to move. She licked her lips and drew her writing brush from her belt and took a step forward into the pit, however her foot never made contact with the sand. Instead she found herself slowly floating skywards, weightless and free, as if some invisible hand were carrying her. She looked up and noticed she was floating into a streams of trinkets leading to those golden lips. An invisible hand bringing her to the lips, ah, yes, now it all fit together. She relaxed and let herself drift upwards towards her fate. Twisting over she glanced back at the ridge and saw the pig and hare now awake standing on top of it, slowly growing smaller. For the first time she looked upon them with emotion, realising that she felt almost reluctant to leave them. She felt a tinge of regret for how she had treated them as mere tools in her quest, like so many others before them. What happened next sent her whiskers shooting out straight in surprise: they each took a step forward into the pit and joined her in floating upwards into the orbit of junk. She turned back, trying to bury the first pangs of affection she had felt for other beings in a very long time.

The lips drew closer, glittering and sparkling, the endless stream of trinkets gobbled up by the darkness within. As she neared she saw how things moved beneath the sun yellow surface like smoking swimming in a glass. She drifted upwards into a stream of trinkets, between a lamp with a shade made of rainbow coloured glass and a coat rack carved from deep red wood. She watched as the lamp disappeared between those great big lips, seemingly glistening with moisture. She tightened her grip on the writing brush and closed here eyes. It felt as if a hundred hands were gently laid upon her as she disappeared from her world forever.